


Blood All the Sweeter

by chicago_ruth



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Fight Sex, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: Ivarr's idea of foreplay is violence and more violence.
Relationships: Ivarr Ragnarsson/male Eivor (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62
Collections: Naughty List 2020





	Blood All the Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> Heed the tags. It's Ivarr. 
> 
> When does this take place? Idk, pretend there was some campaign between The Sons of Ragnar and The Book of Dragons quests.

Ivarr slammed Eivor against the side of the cliff, and the resulting pained groan lit arousal in him. Ivarr wasn’t picky, not really—if it screamed and begged, he was willing to fuck it. He’d written Eivor off, back then, on account of Ubba’s admonishments that they wanted to make good with Sigurd and Eivor, but that deal was well and sealed.

He might as well have some fun now.

“You fucking—” Eivor kicked Ivarr off, sending Ivarr sliding across the harsh ground. The torn clothes did nothing to protect him from sharp rocks, each of them scratching his back and leaving small cuts. The pain delighted Ivarr.

“Good, Wolf-Kissed, good! Turn that anger on me!” Ivarr got up, ax in hand, and launched himself at Eivor once more. Battle had always been Ivarr’s one, true love, more potent an aphrodisiac than any wine or mead. How many men and women had he plowed, only to slit their throats in the heat of orgasm? How many times had he found a wounded enemy and fingered the wound? He remembered touching the insides of a Saxon while he screamed for mercy, and it was sweeter than any breathy sighs or moans.

Eivor did not scream in pain. Eivor met Ivarr’s ax with his own, the two weapons clanging hard against each other. Ivarr felt it in his bones, the way Eivor’s strength was almost enough to shatter him just from that.

But Eivor had one small weakness.

He didn’t want to kill Ivarr. He couldn’t afford to kill Ivarr, not with Ubba and Halfdan’s goodwill on the line. Ivarr gave Eivor a bloody grin and dodged to the side, discarding his ax so he could use both hands to tackle Eivor from behind.

He’d caught Eivor by surprise. They both landed hard on the floor, Eivor slamming his head hard. While he was still reeling, Ivarr grabbed the dagger from his belt and cut Eivor’s shirt in two. If the sharp edge caught on Eivor’s skin, well, maybe Eivor shouldn’t have struggled so hard.

The blood welled up from those cuts, though, filling the air with the smell of new blood. Ivarr leaned down and licked along the cut, drinking the blood and letting his tongue linger on Eivor’s back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eivor shouted. He bucked his hips, but Ivarr resettled his weight to keep Eivor down. This lasted for all of a few seconds before Eivor found his bearings and rolled them over. Eivor scrambled away, his shirt falling from his body entirely.

Now that was more like it. Ivarr enjoyed the mewling weaklings he raped, but it would be a much bigger feat to take a warrior like Eivor.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Ivarr answered, grinning widely. His motioned towards his burgeoning erection. “My cock needs a nice, warm hole, and yours seems like the best one here.”

“There are—there are thralls for this sort of thing. And I’m sure any number of men at the camp would go with you willingly,” Eivor argued.

“Boring.” Ivarr stood up and licked the blood from his dagger, making sure to maintain eye-contact with Eivor the entire time. “You’re the only one here who can put up a good fight.” Before Eivor could think to do something as cowardly as run, Ivarr flew at him again, slashing his dagger.

He caught Eivor’s exposed midriff. It might have been a deadly blow, if Eivor hadn’t dodged at the last moment. Ivarr didn’t give Eivor any time to rest, slashing again, and again, until he had Eivor cornered.

“By the way…” Ivarr said, casually. “That Randvi girl. Sigurd’s wife? She’s very pretty.” She was entirely not the sort of person Ivarr went for, but he saw the hardness in Eivor’s eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that if I don’t get what I want here, I’ll have to look elsewhere. Sigurd’s not going to notice, is he? Where’s he off to right now, anyway? Letting you play at allegiances while he takes credit for all your deeds. He gets to laze about somewhere, then simply swoop in and claim brotherhood with people who don’t know him.”

Finally, Ivarr had struck the right nerve. Eivor cried out and rushed at Ivarr, no care for strategy or decorum. Just pure, unadulterated anger. Ivarr matched the crazed energy, grappling with Eivor. They crashed into another rock.

The wound on Eivor’s side kept bleeding, too. The next time Ivarr got close, he slammed Eivor face down against the rock and dug his fingers into that cut. Eivor grunted in pain, doubling over, and Ivarr slotting himself behind him, grinding his erection against Eivor’s ass. He brought his dagger up to Eivor’s throat, laughing when Eivor’s entire body tensed.

“You really want to do this?” Eivor asked, voice gruff.

“Oh yes. I am Ivarr the Bloodless! I kill kings and fuck drengr.” Ivarr reluctantly moved his hand from Eivor’s wound to his belt. He fumbled with it, smearing blood all over Eivor’s skin. A pity he couldn’t see it from here.

Finally he got the belt loosened enough to pull Eivor’s pants down. Those were the ass cheeks of a man who fought daily. No fat on them at all, just raw muscle. Ivarr patted them appreciatively before spreading them.

“You ever take it, Eivor Wolf-Kissed? Or do you just plow others?”

“My habits are none of your business,” Eivor spat back. “Hurry up and get it over with.”

“Where’s the romance? Come, you’re a poet, surely you know how to set the mood.”

“Forgive me if I’ve not a mind for flyting right now.” Eivor tilted his head back just a fraction, but Ivarr punished the movement by sliding the blade along Eivor’s throat. More blood spilled.

“It’s all right, poetry is shit anyway. All I need is your screams.” Ivarr had to let go of Eivor’s waist to pull his own rigid cock out. He hadn’t felt anything even resembling an erection in Eivor, but that didn’t bother Ivarr. He’d never really cared about his partner’s arousal anyway, and he wasn’t about to start just because he liked Eivor.

He thought about using spit to ease the way a bit, but that seemed like a lot of trouble. Ivarr smeared the remains of Eivor’s blood on his cock and lined himself up. “You know, it’s been a while since a man’s gotten me this hot. They usually give up so fast. The foreplay was great with you.”

He waited only a moment to see if Eivor would respond. He didn’t, which was a bit of a shame. But the pained groan when Ivarr thrust inside more than made up for it. Not a scream, not like all the weaklings that Ivarr usually had, but a quiet, suppressed expression that gave away Eivor’s true feelings. Surely other people hadn’t heard or seen Eivor like this.

Ivarr got careless with the dagger, creating another slice along Eivor’s collar this time. He could see the tremble in Eivor’s thighs, could smell the blood and fear. Ivarr’s vision swam with arousal. He clamped his hand around Eivor’s throat and used the dagger to start cutting into Eivor’s back. Too bad he didn’t have time to leave proper scar marks. He’d done that to a victim once. Turned the young Saxon into a work of scarified art, branded forever as a thrall to the Ragnarssons.

That particular thrall didn’t last long though. Ivarr had gotten a bit too rough with him, and apparently a little bit of internal bleeding could kill a man. The Saxons were all made of flimsy paper.

Ivarr got a bit distracted, cutting a rune into Eivor’s skin and thrusting in and out of Eivor’s tight hole. Right as he reached the peak, Eivor reared up and slammed the back of his head into Ivarr. The pain made his vision swim, but it made orgasm all the sweeter.

Eivor elbowed him and sent him sprawling to the floor. Didn’t matter. Ivarr grinned as he saw his seed trickling down Eivor’s thighs.

“Fuck, Eivor. I was right. You’re an incredible fuck.” Ivarr raised his arm in a salute.

“This—this stays between us,” Eivor hissed. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I don’t give a fuck about the alliance between Ravensthorpe and the Ragnarssons.” He pulled his pants back up and grabbed his discarded cape, right next to the spilled mugs of mead. “And stay away from Randvi, and everybody under my care.”

Ivarr laughed. “Of course! Do not worry, Eivor Wolf-Kissed! I’m satisfied now. I won’t hurt anybody you care about.”

Eivor stormed off, leaving Ivarr to stare up at the night sky. He would keep his promise—but Ivarr could hardly be expected to know who Eivor cared about.


End file.
